


Redemptions

by KristinaCrow



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 21st Century, Academy of arts au, Couch Cuddles, F/M, Fem!Valjean - Freeform, Friends to Lovers, Paris - Freeform, Phobias, Reincarnations, Romance, transfer students
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-12 07:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5657605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristinaCrow/pseuds/KristinaCrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeanne Valjean knew, by instinct, that she should run at the first sight of her new classmate. But why run? She and Javert shared much in common. Perhaps more than either of them would ever dream to have...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Run? Why not stay...

_Blue eyes stared into the whirrling pool of dark void below. His knees were getting weaker by the moment, his feet leading him ever so closer to the dangerous edge of the railing. His wooden heart contracted painfully in his chest as turboulent thoughts fought for domination in his troubled mind._

_It was not supposed to be like this. None of it was supposed to happen the way it did. He should have arrested the convict, seen that accoursed devil safe behind bars-instead he helped him haul the Pontmercy into the carrige, thus letting the man he had chased across the years and half the France go free._

_Must he start doubting now? He, who has not doubted all these years? Could it be that he was living his whole life in a lie, eyes covered with a veil of illusion that was now lifted abruptly, only to discover that the criminal was a good man, and he- a fool?_

_Javert's body tipped into the void of the river._

_At that same moment, a year later, another man died. Died peacefully, surrounded by the ones he loved, as God embraced him gently and guided him towards the light. He had regrets, like any man, but it was all redeemed._

_Jean Valjean's eyes gently fluttered shut as Fantine's soul awaited him on the other end. Surprisingly, a name sprung to mind, the one he has respected and feared most of his life. Javert._

.o

 

The streets of Paris were bustling with activity. Stalls and carts that always stood lined up at the sides of the Rue du Babylone seemed to take up even more space as people shouldered their ways and stumbled trough the bristling crowd.  The sounds of bargains being made,  children laughing (or crying, in most cases), filled the air, only adding up to the irritating atmosphere that was already stacked up with tension, foreboding a brawl in the open air. People bumped and pushed against each other, spitting curses and moving in ant-like colonies.

This all irritated Jeanne Valjean beyond comparision, and she sighed in spite of herself. It was on days like these, when sun scorched and shouts filled the air and people swarmed the streets like bugs, that she found herself silently contemplating letting her temper slip away and punch the nearest person straight into the face, despite of her calm, peaceful nature.

It was not that she hated humans, oh no, far from that. It was just that she preffered peace and quiet from shouting and shouldering, thank you very much. Moving trough big, noisy crowds of sweaty people was not her forte.

Unfortunately, moving trough big, noisy crowds of sweaty people was a necessary part of a relatively normal existence in Paris these days.

The young woman adjusted the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and, shielding her eyes from the sun, cursed herself for forgeting sunglasses.

Sighing for what felt like a sixteenth time that day, Jeanne shouldered her way trough the crowd until she reached Rue du Plumet. Here the crowd was reduced only to a few individuals and an ocassional family, and Jeanne Valjean sighed again, this time in relief. She planted herself onto a wooden bench beside the wineshop, swamp brown eyes watching people passing by, thoughts distant.

A kid came up to her side. The poor child was in rags, hair soiled and tangled, and Jeanne slipped a few coins into the child's small, dirty palm. The kid gave her a grateful look and skipped away. Jeanne's eyes followed her until the red, mud stained skirt disappeared into the forest of legs and feet.

Jeanne's long fingers found the leather wristbands she wore and started fondling and spinning one of them around, as was her habit when she was thinking. Glimpses of pale skin showed in between the multitude of bracelets, and if one looked long enough, they would notice with no small amount of confusion that, perhaps, the skin around her wrists was paler and the texture rougher than the rest of her.

She sighed (again) and rubbed her eyes. Bags were starting to form under them, her shoulders were slightly slumped, and her hair sticking up at odd angles. She was getting little to no sleep at all these past weeks. The deadlines for her design projects were closing in, steadily, and she was in a full blown work mode twenty four- seven. It was a rare occasion like this, when she could relax and be at peace with the world around her and just feel the steady pass of the day and faces in it, having piles of work done at home and a hell of a wristache from scribbling and sketching around for hours on end.

Unfortunately, all good things are doomed to end, far to early that either of us would prefer, and like a butterfly that nobody expects to trick the day and live trough the night, happiness and peace was dashed into the sunlight as Jeanne's eyes flew open at the sound of a loud crash, followed by a scream of pain and shock.

There was a cart that fell onto its side, and a man lying under it, moaning and pleading for help, eyes shut tight in pain. People vcrowded in a tight circle around the scene, neither coming close for the fear of the cart roling onto them too.

Jeanne Valjean crossed the street in a few long strides and pushed her way trough the audience.

 „Stand back“-she ordered in a loud voice, grateful for her natural throatiness as her voice was instantly heard by all. Everyone took a step or two back as Jeanne gripped the edge of a cart, spliters of wood digging into her palms, and she pulled upwards. After a few seconds, the cart was lifted enough so that a pair of men could help the old guy from under it. Jeanne thanked whatever force was watching over them today that the cart was empty- the products had scattered to the ground around them when the cart fell. She let the heavy thing fall down with a thud, and wiped her brow.

Making sure the old man was okay, she picked her way back to the bench, retrieved her bag and started the route back home to Rue de l' homme-arme, when she saw the icy blue eyes observing her. the face was unusualy familiar, and she was hit with a deep, nearly instinctual, inexplainable fear. _Run._ She detected the stray, automaic  thought and resisted the silly but strong urge to do so exactly. Itstead she walked quickly and stiffly to the doorstep of her home. Her head turned left and right, as if looking for those blue eyes.

Nothing. Shaking her head and laughing quietly at her own antics, Jeanne Valjean stepped into the cosy apartment.

She could not, however, resist the urge to lock her door.

.o

The unusual heat of the sun didn't cease next morning either. Even though it was six in the morning,  it was hot enough for a thin sheet of sweat to form on Jenanne Valjean's hairline as she dragged herself to the Academy's building. The dark circles under her eyes were a stark contrast to her face, pale as a ghost from a lack of sleep.  She sent a quick thanks to heavens for not letting her forget a cap today. Her eyes were in a comfortable shade and her short brown hair safely tucked away so it didn't tickle and sting at her neck.

It was too hot to wear her arm warmers or fingerless gloves either, so se wore the same leather bracelets as before. They were actually very flattering, paired up with dark trousers and a green t-shirt.

Jeanne never did care much about fashion. Sure, she could bear a dress or two and a bit of a makeup, but never was she into that stuff. She was childish, neither grown up like her peers, neither a little kid. Always in between, always balancing on the line between the innocence of a kid and a tainted world of grown ups.

She preffered it that way, really.

Jeanne made a truly pitiful picture as she dragged herself trough the halls towards her classroom. But the moment the lack of shouting and screeching registered in her half-dead brain, Jeanne Valjean stopped in her tracks, just short of entering the classroom.

„ Well. Fuck.“

Now it was not usually that Jeanne Valjean swore. Never, to be exact. Now , a distant part of her brain wallowed in misery when the record of two years without a swear word uttered broken, but it was quickly squished by a part of her brain that kept on using every profane word known to humanity as the teacher and students stared back at her.

„Sorry...I'm just gonna sit down..yea...“ Jeanne mumbled a fast apology as she shuffled to her seat, ploping down with a heart wrenching sigh that earned her snickering and eye rolling from people around her.  the teacher cleared his throat.

„Now, as I was saying before Miss Half-dead-late-zombie made her gracious apperiance, we are having a transfer student this year.“

Here Jeanne perked up a bit (because, honestly, who doesn't get excited at the prospect of the transfer students?) and became all ears and eyes.

„Class, say hello to Javert.“

And here it was again- that feeling of dread washing over her whole being as icy blue eyes scanned the classroom confidently, landing on her, and their eyes locked. Jeanne's  breath hitched in her throat and the blue eyes widened in what seemed to be a shock of sorts and the man's lips parted a bit.

Jeanne and Javert both snapped back into reality as the teacher spoke again: „ Javert, you sit right there. Beside Miss Zombie. Yes, right there.“

Now Jeanne cursed those same heavens she was thanking just a half an hour ago. The tall guy (Javert, Jeanne reminded herself) seemed as unwilling to sit beside her, but crossed the distance in a few long strides and flopped down onto the chair beside her.

Jeanne and Javert spent first fifteen minutes of class pointedly ignoring each other, putting as much distance as was phisically possible between themselves. Jeanne noted that, with no small amount of confusion, the name Javert was strangely familiar to her, even though she wes pretty sure she had never heard of it. Same with the boy's face, wich was glowing with an odd familiarity.

The face that was blatantly staring at her right now.

Jeanne startled when their eyes met. Javert ripped out a piece of paper from his notebook and started scribbling on it before passing it to her. he had a very neat handwriting, Jeanne noted. Curvacious, but readable. Not many people had a readable handwriting.

_It seems to me we may have met._

Jeanne arched a brow at him, and he was staring at her as if she was something of extreme interest. That same sense of familiarity returned and she scribbled the answer.

_Your face is not the face I would forget._

The expression Javert made at her when he read the answer was something bordering on insult, and Jeanne's cheeks flushed as she tore the paper from him and hastily scribbled:

_It's not that you're not attractive or anything. In fact, you're very nice._

Javert's face was tipped into the expression of amusement at her flustered being, and Jeanne released a breath she wasn't aware she was holding.

_What's your name?_  Javert asked.

_Jeanne Valjean._

Javert stared at those two words, then at her, then back at the paper. Jeanne hesitatingly touched his arm and he jerked, shook his head, and wrote:

_Familiar.Heheh, you have one or those names that can go both ways. Jeanne-Jean. Curious._

Jeanne stared in wornder at this new relevation- so Javert was sensing the odd conecction between them as well. The corner of her mouth quirked upwards in a small smile.

_Whatcha doing after the torture is over?_

_Nothing in particular._ –Javert replied.

_Wanna hang out?_

_Sure._

.o

The sun has mercifully settled down and the park was bathed in a lovely orange glow as Jeanne waited for Javert to join her at the fountain.

„Here I am.“

God, was his voice familiar. It was deep, but not too much. He would be a great baritone singer. It was soft, but loud at the same time, like a distant thunder. Jeanne smiled up at him under hier cap's rim as he harnded her the coffe in a paper cup. „Thanks“

„It's nothing. Cheers.“

They clicked the cups against each other and sipped. Jeanne smiled into the cup's rim as she felt the smoothness of coffee coat her throat and provide her body with new energy. Cinnamon was there too, only a pinch of it, but it tasted heavenly.

_„Ah...“_ she closed her eyes, but when she opened them again Javert was staring again with those infuriatingly blue eyes of his. Something inside her told her to run, hide ,freaking dash, but she shooed 

the irritating voice away. The guy was nothing  short of nice to be around. He seemed to have a certain charisma about him.

Javert placed his coffee on the fountain's rim and jumped to his feet, walking on that very slippery rim in confident steps. Jeanne's eyes followed him as he moved with ease, marveling at the beauty of the guy's body. He was tall, muscled like a cat. He actually had long hair that was tied back in a ponytail at the base of his neck, colored like dark chocolate.

„Don't fall.“

Javert snickered, but seemed to lose a bit of his balance. He recovered quickly, but Jeanne didn't miss the slightest spark of fear in his eyes.

„Thanks a lot, Jean. You nearly jinxed me.“

Jeanne stuck her tongue out at him. „ It's Jeanne. J-E-A-N-N-E. Not Jean. I'm a girl, you know.“

Javert stopped and crouched onto his heels beside her. he got into her face and flicked her nose. Jeanne blinked.

„Whatever you say , _Jean._ “

„H-hey!“

Javert laughed. He gave an impression of a tiger, head thrown back and mough gaping wide with laughter.  Jeanne gave a humph and crossed hef arms, but started snickering as well.

That night, Jeanne waltzed into her small apartment, dumped her bag somewhere random and flopped onto her bed with a happy sigh, a smile playing on her lips. Why, oh why had she ever doubted Javert and his utter amazingness? Why have the urges to run as far as possible from him when he was nothing but inviting and warm to her?

She finally had a good night's sleep despite the coffe she drank with him, and slept soundly.

Her happiness carried on onto the next day. At least, until she showed up late for class again.

„You want to get detention or what?“ Javert pulled her chair for her helpfully and she heaved a sigh, glaring half-heartedly at him. He patted her arm encouragingly as the class started. It was about Sistine chapel. Really, Jeanne knew this at the age of thirteen.

The class was fairly boring until their teacher made them lie on their backs on the tables and draw with their notebooks up in the air just to prove how hard it is. But Jeanne didn't mind with Javert's arm brushing ocassionaly against hers as he focused on sketching .

Later that day they met up at the park again.

„So, what did you draw today?“

Javert pulled out his sketchbook and Jeanne recognized one of the bridges that arched over Seine.

„That bridge always held a special importance to me, for some reason. But always kind of creeped me out.  Whenever I cross it I can't help but think how much it would hurt if I tipped over the edge.“

Jeanne looked up at him and squeezed his forearm. She handed him the notebook and took out her own.

„I really love chapels. The atmosphere is so inviting in there.“

„You really have talent.“

„So do you.“

Javert's melancholy seemed to vanish in a blink of an eyes, and he grinned. „Well, I suppose I am. How else would we be here, eh, Jean?“

Indeed, Jeanne  though as she grinned back and flicked the fountain water in his face, how else?


	2. Bridges and Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not long and kinda rushed, no much time for writing today. Sorry... I wanted to post the second chapter today cuz I won't be home for a while...

The park became their usual meeting place. As weeks passed, it became a ritual of sorts, meeting up and drinking coffee, laughing and talking until the sun sets.  Jeanne started opening up bit by bit, sharing her past with Javert and vice versa.

„So you're telling me your parents have five kids?“

Jeanne nodded in between chuckles- „Yea! And I'm the oldest one there! So naturally nobody listens to me. You?“

„Naw. Only child.“

„Well that's just sad.“ Jeanne looked into the glistening water and their rippling reflections. Javert gulped down the rest of his coffee and threw the empty cup into the nearby trash bin. He crouched before Jeanne and flicked her nose-„C'mon Jean, I want to show you something.“

„Oh?“-Jeanne blinked at him and stood up, hauling her bag onto her shoulder. They walked side by side in a comfortable silence, broken only by a few comments.

„Autumn's closing in.“

„Mm.“

And indeed, leaves were yellowing out and the green grass was hiding a few that gave up the fight and fell asleep on the ground. There were less and less flowers, and though butterflies were still fluttering around, an autumn  chill was closing in, so different from an august heat only two months ago, and already scarfs could be seen.

Javert and Jeanne's steps took them out of the park and into the city. They kept on walking until they passed Notre Damme, and Javert rounded a corner, Jeanne stumbling in surprise behind him. They crossed the bridge halfway, and Javert stopped. Jeanne placed her hands onto the marble railing.

Javert's brilliant blue eyes were fixed on the whirlpool bellow, water curling and sloshing around. His hands were also on the railing, and he never said a word for what seemed like an enternity. This silence was tense, Jeanne didn't like it. She took a deep breath.

„This bridge..“ she breathed. Javert nodded the tiniest of nods.

„Yes. This is the one.“

They fell silent again. Jeanne bit the inside of her cheek, mind whirling in search of words. She heaved a sigh in an attempt to relieve herself of some tension, but it came back twice as strong.

„Look, Jean.“

Jeanne peered under the rim of her tattered cap, Javert was facing her. He gripped her shoulders gently and turned her around towards the cathedral. „Look. On one side, God. On the other..“-he turned her back around to the Palace of Justice-„...Law. We're literally standing between two most feared and respected forces on the world."

„Javert...why do you fear this place so much?“ Surely Javert has crossed the bridge many times, Jeanne did for sure.  But her question seemed to fling Javert into a trance of sorts. His eyes fixed onto the dark river bellow them. He suddenly flunged himself onto the railing, raising to his full height. Jeanne's eyes widened and she gasped, taking a step back.

Javert was shaking. It was miniscule at first, but it spread, taking him over until it was impossible to not notice. His chest and shoulders twitched, breath coming in irregular gasps. It hit her at last.

Javert was _crying._

„I don't know.“

„Javert...“

„I never knew...I dare fate to trip me on daily basis, but I'm terrified of falling. Especially here. It's as if...as if something terrible happened here. No, I know it happened.“

Jeanne reached out and hesitatingly squeezed his hand. It was cold.

„Javert, _please._ You're scaring me.“

Javert jerked at the touch. He looked down to her and her pleading brown eyes. He smiled shakily and stepped down from the railing. Jeanne sighed in relief and flung herself at him, embracing him tightly. Javert staggered a little, arms hovering in the air. Eventually, they came to rest upon her back lightly.

„I've...never done this before.“

„What, been about to fling yourself over?“- Jeanne whispered-shouted into his ear, shaking and tightening her hold on him.

„No. This. Hugged.“- Javert whispered back. There was a damp, cold sensation on his shoulder, and he realized with wonder-Jeanne was crying softly into it. He tightened his hold around her waist. „Jean, you're crying.“

Jeanne tore from him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She sniffed a bit and her reddened nose twitched just a bit. Silence was kind of awkward, and both struggled for words.

„Whre do you live, Javert?“

Javert blinked at the question. „W...wha-''

„I'm not letting you out of my sight until tomorrow. You spooked me out, moron.“

Javert quirked his brow at her pouty, red face, and he chuckled. „Come.“

They walked close to each other, Jeanne insisting on clutching onto his forearm, and Javert sighed. Women.

Javert's apartment was small and sketchy to say the least, but it was cosy. Boxes unpacked were stacked in one corner, and Javert stumbled around the apartment to clean up a bit. „Sorry. I don't-ah, I don't have guests often here.“

„I can see.“- Jeanne shed her bag and sweater, and sat onto the small couch. Javert popped his head out of the kitchen. „Coffee?“

„Tea.“

Javert's cheeks reddened ever so slightly and he mumbled something into his chin. Jeanne lifted a brow at him. He sighed. „I don't know how to.“

Jeanne stared in disbelief at him. „Seriously?“

Javert opened his mouth, but Jeanne lifted her hand, and eventually herself. She made her way into the small kitchenette, Javert trailing her like a lost puppy.

„It's easy, really.“- Jeanne fumbled trough the drawers. By some miracle, she fished out a box of green tea, and wondered why the Hell Javert would have tea in his house if he didn't know how to make it. She sighed in defeat. Men.

„Come here.“ – she hailed him and he approached her. She took his shoulders and guided him in front of her. She took his hands in hers and guided him trough steps like a mother would guide a child. Soon, tea was brewed, and Jeanne smiled up at Javert. He smiled back.

She poured two mugs, and gave one to Javert. „Cheers.“

„Cheers.“

Jeanne sipped a bit. It was not too hot, and she watched in amusement as Javert drank a brave gulp and his eyes widened in wonder.

„This is...kinda good.“

Jeanne laughed. It was a bight, clear laugh, and it seemed to Javert that the whole messy apartment suddenly lit up with his friend's laugh. He smiled brightly.

They downed the rest of the tea beside the window overlooking the rooftops  of Paris in comfortable silence. Jeanne took the mugs into the kitchenette, but Javert insisted on washing them himself. She waited for him until the sound of water disappeared and he joined her at the couch.

„Why did you do that?“

Javert looked down , meeting her eyes.

„On the bridge. Why did you do it?“

Javert sighed. It was a tired sigh, more fitting for an old man than a younster full of life. „I don't know. I feel a horrible connection between me and that place. As if Seine is calling out , 'Come, Javert, _come._ ' Sorry, I'm blabbering now.“

Jeanne shook her head. It made sense. In a twisted and warped wa that neither of them inderstood, it made sense. The question was-why?

Jeanne jawned and Javert rubbed her shoulder, standing up and offering his hand. She stared at it for a moment and took it. He helped her stand up and led her out of the living room and into the small bedroom. It was messy as the rest of the flat. A bed in the corner, stack of boxes, a closet and a nightstand. There was a window as well.

„Oh no, I couldn't-''

„Shut up, Jean. You're not sleeping on the couch.“

Jeanne bit her lip and her shoulders slumped. She slowly sat on the bed and heeled her sneakers off.  Javert did the same and shed his hoodie, throwing it somewhere random. Jeanne felt her cheeks flush despite herself. She watched him as he fished a blue cotton t-shirt out of the closet. He inspected it and seemed satisfied with something. He threw it at her and she catched it clumsily.

„There's a bathroom roundthe corner. Can't miss it.“

Jeanne colected the remaining shards of her dignity and shuffled herself into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

When she emerged, she wore nothing but her underwear and that blue shirt, which ended up seriously oversized for her, so it fell off one shoulder and nearly reached her knees. She found herself glad she shaved a day before. Her hair barely brushed her shoulders.

„I took the librety and used  your hairbrush.“

„It's okay.“- Javert brushed her off.  Jeanne took a deep breath and stepped into the light. Javert's eyes glided over her before looking away casually.

Jeanne Valjean was embarassed for all she was worth. There was a reason she didn't prefer dresses. Her build was...not lithe. Sure thre was a nice waistline, but her hips and tighs were thick and stong, her legs medium lenght, nothing like those girls in magazines boys fantasized about. Her shoulders were small, but her biceps buldged out ever so slightly. She had no much muscular mass, so her strenght was nothing short of a miracle for her build.

But Javert never cringed. He merely scooted to a side, making room for her. She skipped to the edge and sat down. A sigh was heard-and then two strong arms grabbed her from behind, pulling her to the bed onto her back. Jeanne yelped and glare at him; but Javert placed a finger on his lips. He pointed to the ceiling and she looked up- it was plain and white. She looked back at him quizzically. He had the audicity to look smug, the kind of I-know-something-you-don't look on his face. He flicked off the light and Jeanne gasped.

There were stars. On the cieling, a whole universe in multitude of shades of dark blue, purple, red and green- it all glowed soflty down on them. Millions of white specks dotted the ceiling, seemingly glowing brighter than the rest. She recognised Orion, right over them.

„Beautiful.“- she breathed.

„Mm.“

She turned to him. „You did this?“

„Yea.“

Jeanne breathed in wonder-„It's amazing...“

Javert planted a soft, chaste kiss on top of her head and turned his back to her: „Sleep, Jean.“

She turned to her side of the bed, careful not to hog up the blankets. „Goodnight, Javert.“

Jeanne Valjean used to sleep under the stars with her father when she was a small child. She had not done it for years. But this was as close to it as it could be.

 

.o

Jeanne’s first conscious thought when she woke was that she was not in her own bed. She panicked a bit, but sluggish sleepiness lifted quickly and she remembered; Javert’s flat. She sighed and turned onto her back, thankful in was weekend.

Javert was not in bed. There was a sound of rushing water, letting her know he was in the kitchenette. She got out of the bed and pulled on only her jeans, barefoot. There was a peculiar charm in her skinny jeans and her friend’s huge shirt coupled together. She stepped into the kitchen. There was Javert, whistling a tune and preparing coffee for them.

“Good morning.”-she greeted.

“Morning. You slept in- I didn’t want to wake you.”

Jeanne flushed:”Thanks.”

Javert waved her away; she flopped onto the couch and took the remote, flipping between the channels. There was absolutely nothing, so she settled on Animal Planet- there were wolves.

Javert joined her with mugs of hot, dark coffee in both hands. They drank slowly, reveling in the feeling of a slow weekend wake up.

Jeanne observed Javert from the corner of her eye. He had an air of a wolf about himself. She could not point it out, but it was there, in the confident step, straight back and eyes like daggers.

She found herself hoping there would be more mornings like this. She leaned into his side, and as he wrapped his arm about her shoulders, she was sure there would be.


End file.
